Beware the Writer
by Salamander
Summary: It's difficult being a fictive. Jubilee and Monet try to help a seemingly hopeless new one.


Disclaimer: I don't own Monet or Jubilee. Marvel does. However, Marvel doesn't really own their fictives. Not really. . . . Monopoly isn't mine, either. Everything else in the fic is probably mine. :)  
  
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"Check." Jubilee smiled and took a sip of her lemonade.  
  
Monet looked over the chessboard with scrutiny. How was she going to get out of this? Aha! She found it! She pulled a knight in front of her queen. "Not anymore."  
  
"Dang, man. Dang." Jubilee shook her head. If she took out Monet's knight with her bishop, Monet would just use her queen to get rid of the bishop. "Oh bloody hell."  
  
Monet eyed Jubilee. "You don't want to play anymore, do you?"  
  
The younger teen . . . or older one . . . um . . . Jubilee shook her head. "Never was my game."  
  
"It's all about strategy. You're very good at strategy. One would think you'd love this game."  
  
"One would." Wanting nothing more to end the game quickly, Jubilee moved captured the knight with her bishop.  
  
Monet frowned. "Jubilation, . . . what did you just do?"  
  
"Ya know what I did."  
  
"Why?! We both know that was a terrible move."  
  
Jubilee shrugged. "Whoops. Musta slipped my mind."  
  
Salamander, fanfiction writer extraordinaire who has been having problems with delusions of grandeur as of late, entered the scene. "What am I gonna do with you two? Playing games? Sheesh! What's the world comin' to?!"  
  
"Would you rather us at each other's throat?" Monet watched the writer with disinterest.  
  
Sal flung her hands in the air. "Yes! That's what people wanna read about!"  
  
"It's people like you who make our lives miserable." Jubilee snarled, doing a somewhat decent impression of Logan.  
  
Salamander shook her head and picked up Jubilee's glass of lemonade. "If ya guys are gonna be buddy-buddy all the time, maybe a little melodrama in the relationship? Like, this lemonade's not gonna do it."  
  
"What would you suggest?" Monet used her own bishop to take out Jubilee's.  
  
"Somethin' more exciting. Liiiiiike . . . vodka or rum or -- "  
  
"So ya want me to be a drunk?" Jubilee forcefully took her drink from Sal's hand, afraid the writer would put something in it.  
  
"Not necessarily. Drug abuse works, too. -- "  
  
"Leave." Monet waved her arm as if she were dismissing a servant.  
  
"I'd advise ya to be nicer to me. I kinda have power over your future."  
  
"Actually, we are in the hands of the editors at Marvel, unfortunately." Monet smirked.  
  
Salamander stopped dead in her tracks. "Wait. . . . Ya're not fictives?"  
  
Jubilee shook her head. "Not in the least."  
  
Sal frowned. "Then, . . . what are ya doin' in my fic?"  
  
At that moment, an eerie silence fell over the three females, who stared at each other. Monet shrugged after a moment. "You are as much of a fictive as I am."  
  
Salamander blinked and looked around. "Huh? . . . No. I'm the writer."  
  
"Dude, get over it!" Jubilee pointed behind the computer screen to the teenaged girl typing furiously. "That's the writer," to which the hunched-over girl behind the screen nodded and waved. She then went back to writing. "See? You're a fictive."  
  
Sal looked at Jubilee questioningly. And then to Monet. And then back up to behind the screen, where the girl again stopped writing and nodded encouragingly. Salamander shook her head. "Well, damn."  
  
Jubilee snorted. "Yeah. I know."  
  
Sal looked around. "Sooo . . . what do I do?"  
  
"First, sit down." Monet yawned, tired of Sal.  
  
"Sit down? But there are only two seats."  
  
Jubilee shook her head. "Just sit down." She pushed the newly pegged fictive down, Sal finding that a chair had mysteriously appeared there.  
  
Sal looked down. "Where'd this come from?"  
  
Monet threw her hands in the air. "She claimed to be a fanfiction writer, and she still asks the dumbest questions."  
  
Jubilee just shook her head and pulled out a good-sized brochure from her pocket, which was way too small to hold it. "Here. You might want to read it for future reference."  
  
Sal took the brochure. "What's this? "I'm a Fictive, You're a Fictive"? Ya really think I'll need this?"  
  
Monet shook her head. "If you have to ask, . . . "  
  
"Okay! Fine! I'll read it later." She tried to stuff it into her own pants, which were cargoes and had large pockets, but it wouldn't fit.  
  
Monet smirked. "Maybe you should read it now."  
  
Jubilee shook her head. "Leave her alone, M. She's new." She turned to Salamander. "Want to play with us?"  
  
"But ya guys are playin' chess. Only two people can play in chess."  
  
Jubilee and Monet stared at the other teen until Jubilee, the one with more pity, decided to explain. "We're not playin' chess anymore."  
  
Salamander looked down at the table to find a Monopoly board. "Ohhhhh. Okay. I'll play."  
  
"That is the smartest thing she has said today," Monet muttered.  
  
"So . . . how'd ya guys change the gameboard?"  
  
"We didn't!" Monet pounded the table, game pieces jumping about as she did so. "We're at the whim of the writer!"  
  
Jubilee shook her head, finally getting aggravated. Talking to Salamander, she commanded, "Look at her."  
  
"Who? Monet?"  
  
Simultaneously, both GenXers exclaimed, "The writer!"  
  
Salamander nodded slowly and then looked through the screen. The writer eyed Salamander, obviously annoyed. She had stopped writing and was instead tapping her fingers on the keyboard.  
  
Jubilee glared at Salamander. "You do NOT piss off the writer. There's an unabridged version of the pamphlet I gave to ya. It's a huge book. In it, there's a whole section on discarded fictives, disappearances of fictives, and mysterious mutilations and deaths of fictives."  
  
Sal looked up at the writer who seemed to be wearing an unnervingly smug grin. She looked back at the two comic book characters. "We're really at her whim?"  
  
Monet used almost the same smug grin as the writer. "For now, we are. Jubilation and I are lucky, though. Other writers will use us. -- "  
  
"And abuse us," Jubilee added.  
  
"Right. However, since you are a new fictive, and one that was made up to reflect the writer, other writers will not be as willing to use you."  
  
"Or abuse you." Jubilee smiled.  
  
Salamander looked down, suddenly realizing what everything meant. "I'm gonna be discarded."  
  
Jubilee shrugged. "Maybe not. Maybe the writer will enjoy torturin' ya. I know she likes torturin' me."  
  
Salamander shook her head. "This is gonna be my last fic."  
  
Monet nodded. "Very possible. The writer has even omitted your description."  
  
"Yeah!" Jubilee shrugged. "I don't even know what ya look like."  
  
Sal looked down, completely disheartened. "This is gonna be my last fic," she groaned.  
  
Monet smirked. "Only if you're lucky."  
  
And in the distance, faint laughter was heard from behind the computer screen. 


End file.
